


Captured

by Galahard



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Seriously this is mostly just torture and violence, Torture, Violence, if that isn't your thing I don't really recommend it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galahard/pseuds/Galahard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt fill: Eggsy is captured and tortured, the villain utilizes the glasses so Harry is also privy to the torture but helpless to do anything about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured

“Absolutely not.” Harry set the tablet down on his desk, crossing his arms and scowling. “This is a mission for a team, at least three agents. I would barely consider sending a pair, and a single agent is out of the question.”

“There fucking ain’t no one else Arthur.” Eggsy glowered back at him, jabbing his finger toward the screen. “Two of our recruits are greener than me and they’re in Ireland trying to defuse bombs. Ector is in Scotland trying to protect the crown prince from an assassination attempt, Kay is in France doing god knows what with the European branch, Perce and Lance are trying to keep the mafia from moving into Brighton and all we’ve got left are the recruits because we’re down two fucking agents. Again. It’s shit but I’m all we got, and if we don’t rescue this wanker then you’re pretty much dooming the future of an entire country.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Harry said, but he could see the truth in it all. Riktere wasn’t elected yet, and her party wasn’t in power, so no one would actually try to recover her. She was the best chance of revitalizing Latvia after the chaos Valentine had caused, but still Harry couldn’t help but feel the entire situation was a suicide attempt. Even with three agents it would be a daunting task, and not for the first time he cursed the wheelchair he was bound to.

“Percival and Lancelot should be finished by the morning,” he started, but Eggsy cut in.

“Yeah. This can’t wait. I’ll go now, Merlin can pilot and you can monitor us all. When they’re done you can send them over immediately, they can snatch a few hours of rest on the plane, yeah? Everything we know about E.L.I.T.E. is that they won’t wait. If I get there a few hours early it could mean life or death for her.”

Eggsy straightened up, and he could see the struggle there, realizing that Eggsy knew what he was asking to do. “Harry,” the young man’s voice was quiet, calm, and that more than anything told him he was going to end up giving in to request. “I need to do this. This is what Kingsman is for. We are the modern knights, and there is someone in distress. You need to let me do this Harry.”

Harry met his eyes and slowly nodded. He longed to open his mouth, to tell Eggsy to be careful and to be safe. To come back to him. But he had no right to say that to him. Instead he reached out to tap a button on the tablet in front of him.

“Merlin, ready the helicopter.”

\---------

He was fucking grateful that this bird wasn’t some toff to fuss over getting her dress dirty. She practically threw herself through the small exit, wires clawing scratches across her arms, and kept going. Eggsy followed suit, firing with one hand behind them to try to give them cover. They just had to make it to the helicopter.

It was in sight, Merlin hovering in the air with a rope ladder lowered in welcome, and Riktere threw herself onto it, clinging like a limpet before he saw the figure emerge from the side.

“Go!” he screamed into his headset, trying to motion Merlin on while taking aim. The man was a brute, but Eggsy was good with weapons. He emptied the rest of his clip into the man, worried when that only meant three bullets but he’d managed a headshot and the man was down, sprawled out on the concrete as Eggsy ran, knowing he could make the leap to the ladder easily.

He hadn’t planned on the bullet ripping through his knee and he went down, slamming into the pavement and skidding a few centimeters as the helicopter kept going without him. He could see the moment Merlin realized that but he managed to force the words out through the pain. “Get out of here Merlin. That’s an order. Get her to safety.”

\--------

The next time he woke up it was to the feel of a steady rolling motion, stomach more than willing to tell him he was on a boat. His knee throbbed, pain shooting through his leg and he tried to fight back a whimper, taking stock of where he was.

Upright. He knew that much immediately, arms stretched above his head and forcing him to his tiptoes. Looking down he could see that they’d stripped him, the only thing adorning his chest long, bloody grooves. Four carefully spaced lines and one slashing through them. Tallies. Below that he could see his knee, the wound cared for and dressed but left open, not fully bandaged.

Most remarkable of all was when he realized he still had his glasses. 

“Arthur,” he croaked, training kicking in. Give as much information as you can. While you can. “On a boat or ship. Fuckers took care of the wound so they might want me alive.” The only answer was static and he cursed, hoping that at least the glasses were sending a signal. There was a reason incoming and outcoming signals went through different parts of the glasses, so that even if something happened they might still function somewhat. With the way the static had come in, not constant but purposeful, he could only hope it meant a reply, though not one he could understand.

He managed to raise his head, scanning as much of the room as possible, and the reality was bleak. There was a table with a cloth draped over it, but underneath it were shapes he’d rather not think about. The outlines of tools. There was a single chair set to face him, and that was just about it. It was remarkably nondescript, but looking up meant he saw immediately when the door opened.

“Talking to yourself?” The voice was almost shockingly light as the woman stepped toward him. Her eyes sparked with intelligence but otherwise she was fairly drab in appearance. Hair pulled back into a bun, shoes flat and sensible. Then she grinned, and he understood what it meant when people compared someone to the Cheshire cat.

“We took everything from you but your glasses. I’d assumed they were prescriptive and I wanted you to be able to see, but it would be every so nice if they were something else. 

There was nothing he could really do when she came over and reached for his glasses. Sure, he tried, snapping at her fingers but she merely laughed, back handing him in a way that actually hurt quite a bit despite her weak appearance, plucking the frames off of his face and trying them on.

“Oh yes. Yes these will do nicely. Smile for the camera darling, whoever’s watching is going to love remembering you whole.”

\---------

The image of the woman was splashed over various monitors, Harry’s fingers flying as he tried to trace her. Merlin had dropped Riktere off in the countryside and made it back, only to immediately take the jet to try to collect Percival and Lancelot, knowing they were their best chance of recovering Eggsy. They needed agents, and that was the commodity they were short of. That and time.

Her words slowly filtered into his mind and he jerked his attention back to the camera feed. Eggsy was looking defiantly back at her, but then her gaze lowered, the glasses moving along as she tilted her face slowly. “Tsk tsk,” he heard her say. “Five? We’ve just gotten into our seventh hour. We’ll have to take care of that right away.”

Helplessness was not a feeling he was accustomed to, and it was one he never wanted to feel again. He could only see what she showed him, as she turned, moving purposefully over to the table and twitching aside the sheet.

What she uncovered twisted his stomach. The tools of the trade. Scalpels and knives. Needles and pliers. Whips and things he didn’t want to identify.

She didn’t hesitate, reaching for a small knife before seeming to twirl back toward Eggsy. “I wanted you to have some way to keep track of our time together sweetie. Won’t this be a nice way to remember?” She was looking up into Eggsy’s face now. “Just call me Dr. Schepers. I’m here in case you need someone to talk to, but I do so hope you’ll stay quiet. We’ll have a lot more fun that way.”

“Fuck you.” Eggsy’s voice was quiet but forceful, and there was a surge of protectiveness in Harry that would do nothing to help the situation.

The glasses moved back to showing Eggsy’s chest as she set the knife to his skin. A centimeter away from the last mark she pushed in at a slight angle, pulling down several centimeters. He could hear the noisy intakes of breath from the boy as she flipped the knife, making the exact same groove from the other side until she was able to peel away a thin triangle of skin. Then she repeated the entire procedure, seemingly not minding the blood trickling down pale skin as she marked out another hour. 

There was a crash as his teacup shattered against the wall, Harry’s chest heaving as he stared at it blankly.

\---------

Dr. Schepers had laid down the knife, and now she stroked her fingers almost lovingly over some of the instruments. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, harder still to ignore the pain from his knee, the rivulets of blood working down his torso. 

“You see, I rather enjoy asking questions.” Her voice was casual as she spoke, as if she hadn't just removed small strips of flesh from him and was now picking up various whips. “I have ever so many questions. Do you know what this is?” She held up some sort of whip with several long strands attached.

He kept his mouth shut, refusing to give her any form of satisfaction. "How dreadful, I'd expected you to be more educated. Of course, if you tell me who you work for we can skip all of this." She paused to let her words sink in, then smiled and continued.

"This is a scourge, based on an ancient Roman design. You'll see the tips have fun little extras to enjoy. Bone, glass, nails, that sort of thing. But I've always wondered why they chose something that would hit all at once. Wouldn't it be worse to have each individual lash felt? Which one actually hurts the most: bone, glass, or nails?"

The horrifying realization was that she was serious. She truly seemed curious, and he tried not to think about it as she picked up a small whip, letting the tail dangle down, the piece of bone at the end twisting lazily. 

She was moving around him now, and he closed his eyes, focusing on breathing and gritting his teeth. He would try to give her as little satisfaction as possible.

It was almost a relief after the blow landed. It hurt, but not unbearably so. He was able to hold in the shout that automatically raised to his mouth. "Hm," he heard behind him. "The bone doesn't break into the skin all that well. Perhaps that was why it was combined with the other materials." She almost seemed to be talking to herself, then there was another pop across his back and his muscles flexed under the attack.

As she moved in front of him she discarded the whip on the bottom part of the cart and began hitting down notes in a notebook, focused and intent before selecting the next one. A simple whip with a shard of glass on the end. "Time for test two! Are you sure you wouldn't like to tell me who you're working for?"

"Fuck off."

"Manners," she reminded him, and he wanted to throw up. She shouldn't be allowed the same words as Harry.

The next blow was odd. He could almost feel the glass sliding into his skin, and she pulled down as she pulled out and he could almost see the skin parting as he struggled to hold in a yelp, a slight bit of noise escaping. "Interesting," she murmured, and then the glass was sliding in again.

"Could you describe the differences on the two materials for me?" She asked. "This is just for my research, you don't have to talk about your organization. Which one actually hurt worse? No? Why don't we wait to compare all three at the end."

The nail hit and skittered off, and she made a disappointed sound behind him. The next blow came almost immediately and this time he was not so lucky. The edge caught in one of the openings made by the glass, pulling at the skin, and a sob broke out. He didn't immediately recognize that the sound had come from himself, but he could almost hear her smirk.

"Well that was informative. I suppose now we know why there is a combination used. Wouldn't you like to experience that?" Her voice was pitched to a seductive purr and he tried to hide the flash of fear in his eyes when she reached for the scourge.

\---------

Despite all his efforts Harry couldn't get through. Every attempt to reach the woman wearing the glasses failed, and she couldn't hear his curses and pleas, the things that he said to try to spare Eggsy that he never would have for himself.

No, all he could do was frantically continue to track their position and yell at Merlin to get Lancelot and Percival there faster, watching helplessly as the screen centered on the pale expanse of Eggsy's back, several small marks marring the once perfect flesh. He could see the small piece that had torn, the skin drooping, swallowing dryly as he forced himself to watch. 

He had permitted Eggsy to take on this mission. He had known better but he was weak when it came to denying the boy. Now his weakness was killing Eggsy.

Eggsy didn’t scream when the blow landed. No, it was as she was pulling the scourge away, the various pieces that had worked their way in yanking back as she struggled to free it, that was when he screamed. It was a sound Harry had never heard him make, and if it were not for the video feed showing him he might not have believed it.

“Oh yes, I can see why the whole scourge is so satisfying. But it’s much harder than it looks, I think you’ll need to give me credit for that my dear. It would be so much better if I had help, don’t you agree?” Harry could see her press a button on a radio, calling for an assistant and in the meantime she walked around, locating her notebook once again and starting to scribble notes. He swore at her, stomach churning, breath catching when she looked up and he could see the pallid look on Eggsy’s face, the flex of his jaw as he struggled to hold everything back.

“Who are you working for Eggsy? Why do they care so much about some Latvian politician?”

He watched as Eggsy licked his lips, but he knew that Eggsy wouldn’t break. Knew because he had trained him, and even if he wanted to tell him it was okay, that Eggsy could be selfish, could try to save himself, he knew him well enough to guess what he would say next.

“Go fuck yourself.”

The lone door to the room opened and Dr. Schepers turned to face it. “Oh good, you’ve come to join us Peter. I need a bit of muscle you see, but I need you to go slow. I want to take notes.”

By the time they walked back around the wounds had started to flow with blood, Eggsy’s back starting to run red but unmarred flesh still visible. “Let’s say a slow count of ten between blows? I’ll let you know if I need longer. You may begin.”

He made it through three more lashes before he had to retch into the bin under his desk, and it took another couple of lashes before Eggsy’s screaming simply didn’t stop between blows. It was only when the hoarse cries had faded into unconsciousness, Eggsy’s body hanging limply from the chains keeping him in place that they stopped, and by then his back was unrecognizable from badly butchered meat.

Worse still was when the doctor took off the glasses and turned them to face her, smiling. “I do hope someone is watching, your young man here is such a lovely playmate. There will be an intermission now, but I’d like to invite you back in a couple of hours for our next show. You won’t want to miss it.”

\--------

Water poured over his face and he gasped into consciousness, struggling to move but unable to. He was belted into what seemed like a barber’s chair, and from the way his mind seemed slow, hard to focus, he was pretty sure he’d be drugged somewhat.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes, and when he struggled to focus he was backhanded. “Rise and shine,” a voice called out cheerfully. “I didn’t want to give you pain medication, but you just wouldn’t wake up for me pretty boy. That was very naughty. Don’t worry though, I’ve got some fun things in store for us.”

Her name oozed back into his mind, and he wanted to say something but his mouth was dry, and all that came out was a dry rasp.

“Peter! You were supposed to take care of him. Fetch the water.”

Something was shoved to his mouth and he tried to fight it until his nostrils were pinched, the liquid being forced in. It wasn’t until the hand was taken away that he could taste the bitterness of salt, the knowledge that this was simply another way to torment him almost comforting. He tried to give the appearance that he was still unfocused but he glanced down in the process. The second set of tallies had been closed off. Ten hours had passed.

He watched as she reached into her pocket, pulling out his glasses and putting them on before smiling at him disarmingly. “Now then, are you ready to tell us who you’re working for? Or how about what to call you. Let’s start off with something that simple. What is your name darling?”

“You,” it was hard to force the words out, and they were barely a whisper as all his screaming earlier had all but stripped his vocal cords. But he was determined, licking his lips with his swollen tongue and forcing them out regardless, “ain’t worth it.” The talking had been a mistake, as it must have somehow pulled or shifted his back. The pain slid through whatever drugs they’d given him for the pain, and he hissed, closing his eyes and fighting against unconsciousness. 

She gave him a cold look before nodding to herself, a cruel smile starting to stretch across her mouth. “I’ve been wondering about this for a long time, and now I finally have a good volunteer. I think you’re going to love this.” She pushed at the chair’s arm and it had been modified, swinging out and allowing her to move her chair in closer, redirecting light to focus on his arm as someone moved a cart full of tools closer to her.

“I’ve always wondered why we need two slightly more frail bones in our lower arms when just one will do for our upper,” she remarked as she selected a knife. “Who’s to say that we can’t make do with just one?”

The realization was sinking in and he squeezed his eyes closed, trying to focus on his breathing. They didn’t seem to want him dead, he’d noticed a blood bag prepared as well. If he was alive it wouldn’t be too late. He could still be saved.

“None of that.” The false pleasantries were stripped from her voice as she spoke again. “You’ve been unspeakably rude, so you’ll be watching my marvelous procedure. Peter, let me know if he looks away. I’ll remove his eyelids if I must, but I’d rather have those pretty eyes of his protected if I can.”  
That was how he found himself trying to unfocus his eyes as she pressed the knife to his arm, trying to distance himself as she started to carve into him as easily as chef would break down a chicken. She was careful, working around major arteries and veins, exposing the bone from his elbow to his wrist and then working to peel the muscle away from his radius.

His stomach heaved but there was nothing to spit up but a bit of bile and the small bit of salt water he had ingested, dribbling out of his mouth, and all his efforts did was cause his back to spasm, more screams ripping out of his throat. He would have cried, but there was no moisture left to do so, and instead his eyes itched and burned as she ignored his aborted thrashing, instead lecturing him on his interosseous membrane as she disconnected them with a scalpel.

\---------

Anything breakable had long since been smashed, and no one would bring him anything else to destroy. His nails punctured half circles into his palms as he clenched his fists, once again forcing himself to watch what he had caused. He had to take ownership for this. Knowing that Merlin was still at least an hour and a half away, and even if they reached the boat there was no telling what might be done to Eggsy before they could make it to him.

When she finally freed the bone, carefully, hands almost reverent, Eggsy went limp, and Harry almost wanted him to stay that way. At least unconscious he would be spared the knowledge of what was happening, would have a few minutes where pain was not his top concern. Then the doctor noticed he was out, directing her underling to revive him, pouring more water on Eggsy and Harry had to watch as he twitched into painful awareness, an almost soundless howl on his lips before he could even focus his vision. 

“Isn’t it pretty?” She asked, clearly delighted. “Here, why don’t you hold it while I get you stitched back up. The bone she rested on his lap before turning back to her work, humming a jovial tune as, true to her word, she started repairing his arm, stitches methodical and precise. Still it was impossible not to notice that there was too much flesh, that the arm looked oddly flat and puddled out, and Harry pressed the button to open a direct connection to Merlin.

“Hurry,” was all he could manage, the single word sounding more broken than he ever could have imagined as she started to apply antiseptic cream to the stitched up gash.

He could hear Merlin’s voice, calm and steady in his ear, giving him precise coordinates and times, but all he could focus on was the line Dr. Schepers had started carving into Eggsy’s chest. 

It had only been eleven hours.

\---------

He was pretty sure he was in shock, but he wasn’t sure if someone who was in shock could tell they were in shock. They were moving him back to the original room he’d been in, the chair apparently having wheels as they moved him through the tight corridors. His head rolled to one side and he didn’t have the energy or will to move it.

Don’t say anything. That was what he had to remember. Right now he couldn’t really remember why that was so familiar, could just picture a man telling him that anything could give something away, that it was best to not say anything at all. No matter what.

So he refused to speak as the woman paced in front of him, detailing out the plans she had for him. What would his arm do if she took out both bones in stead, could the arteries and veins withstand not having the skeletal structure and still send blood through his fingers, keep the flesh alive? Could she swap the bones in alike appendages and still have them function fairly properly, or perhaps turn them about? Wouldn’t it be fun to have some of his organs outside his body so they could watch them function? Or genetic splicing, seeing how he would react to the introduction to the grafting on of animal parts. Rodent tails and limbs, could he keep them alive? 

On and on she went, from skin grafts to exposing his brain to see if she could control him with simple touches, the light in her eye almost feverish as she detailed her plans, a kid in a candy store that didn’t know where to begin. Yet somehow he found himself mentally adding to the list, hope deserting him as he realized how extensive this could get, how the fact that she had just removed a bone from his arm seemed almost like child’s play.

He didn’t even really react when she carved the next tally mark into his chest, just looked at her with unseeing eyes. “Don’t let him sleep,” she told someone else in the room, and he only knew that time had passed when she hurried into the room, cutting another slice into his chest without preamble.

“Quick, bring me the shock therapy cart,” she snapped, and a figure left the room.

The one that returned seemed smaller, and there were several loud noises, bits of light flashing before that figure moved toward him. “I have him Arthur. He’s breathing. Galahad? Galahad hang in there, we’re going to get you out of this.”

“Galahad? Stay with me now! Eggsy! Shit. Percival I need you, finish up and get over here.”

\---------

Harry longed to at least pace the room, but instead he was confined to his chair, working over a stress ball as he watched Eggsy. Sought shreds of comfort in the steady blips that marked his heartbeat.

They were past the worst of it. There had been a period where they couldn’t give Eggsy much in the way of medication, not sure what had been injected into him but having the track marks to prove that there had been something. There was a line between risking overdoing something and not giving him anything, and they’d put him in a medical coma for as long as necessary while trying to get him on the road to recovery.

He’d glued himself to the monitors the entire time they worked on him, had seen mash of Eggsy’s back that had their surgeons admitting they didn’t even know where to begin, had personally supervised them bringing in a specialist.

Still it had been days, days of them trying to find skin to graft on as it was such a large expanse, the procedures being performed, the delicate balance they’d had to work out so they could take care of the wounds on his chest without putting pressure on his back. Thirteen tally marks that would never fade away.

His arm was another matter. Just putting in a replacement bone was one thing, but the tendons and muscle had been peeled away and left to float around in his arm for hours. It would take an actual miracle for his hand to function normally again, and Harry had been around long enough not to believe in those.

 

But today was the day they were bringing him back, the drugs they’d been pumping into him finally halted, the sensors showing signs of activity.

He knew he didn’t deserve to be here, knew he didn’t have the right to be anywhere close to Eggsy, but he couldn’t stay away. He held his breath when he finally saw the young man open his eyes, and the way he was laid out, on his belly with his head turned to the side, it meant it would be impossible for him to not see Harry.

Still, there was a moment of silence, Eggsy’s eyes flicking about before finally settling on him. “Harry,” he croaked, and the older man had to fight from sobbing in relief. “Did Riktere get to safety?”

He did cover his mouth then, tears prickling his eyes as he nodded, pride threatening to overwhelm him, because of course that was what Eggsy would think of first after all of this. Of course.

“Good,” Eggsy murmured, letting his eyes drift shut again. “You look like shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you that read through this, thank you for reading. I know it's a bit different than what I normally write, but thanks for sticking with it. I'm Galahard on tumblr as well.


End file.
